The eyes were light blue, very quick, almost merry--and yet not quite, for if there was humour in them, it was of the kind that takes its pleasures quietly; there was no proneness to laughter in the hard-set face.
When Caius heard his own name spoken, he knew that something unexpected had happened, for no one upon the island had asked his name, and he had not given it.
The stranger, who, from his accent, appeared to be a Canadian of Irish parentage, said, in a few curt words, that he had a cart outside, and was going to drive at once to Cloud Island, that he wished to take the young doctor with him; for death, he observed, was not sitting idle eating his dinner at The Cloud, and if anyone was coming to do battle with him it would be as well to come quickly.
The sarcasm nettled Caius, first, because he felt himself to be caught napping; secondly, because he knew he was innocent.
The elder of the spinsters had got behind the stranger, and she intimated by signs and movements of the lips that the stranger was unknown, and therefore mysterious, and not to be trusted; and so quickly was this pantomime performed that it was done before Caius had time to speak, although he was under the impression that he rose with alacrity to explain to the newcomer that he would go with him at once.
The warning that the old maid gave resulted at least in some cautious questioning.

Caius asked the stranger who he was, and if he had come from The Cloud that day.
As to who he was, the man replied that his name was John O'Shea, and he was the man who worked the land of Madame Le Maitre.

"One does not go and come from Cloud Island in one day at this season," said he.

"'Tis three days ago since I came.

I've been waiting up at the parson's for the schooner.